When I was about 12 (or, nay, younger) I used to go on online chatrooms and pretend I was older. Sometimes I had people convinced I was a college student in Canada. At 12. I loved the sneakiness the internet allowed me – I loved being someone I was meant to be in real life – someone who didn’t fit into her body or life, but was destined to be some Latina in South America going to class to be something flamboyant and wearing thong bikinis on the beach and swimming with her friends.
I met this Venezuelan guy on there that ended up becoming one of my closest friends over the years. He was a few years older than me in actuality, but our ages fluctuated by the day back then. Being impressionable and excited that someone thought me interesting and (gasp!) fascinating, I fell in love with the dude. Now, “love” is a subjective term in this story. I was infatuated with everything he was, and all the interest he was showing in me (that I didn’t receive from the 13 y.o. boys in class… uhh hello, obviously not). He sent me a song called “Obsession” by Aventura (IGNORE video, just listen and imagine your own story to the song) and to this day I’ve loved the band. I can’t help it. If Lothario is the term for the omnipresent SuperMale, then my Lothario was wearing loose cotton pants (no shirt, duh), lightly tanned with dark hair and brooding eyes, and hands that felt like feathers and bone combined (ie. NOT guidos). I wanted to hear Spanish whispered in my ears as we danced a party away into the night on the beach, I wanted siestas in hammocks and delicious “oh.oh. OHhh-hhhhhh” sex (I was an early bloomer).
I wanted “Si, Papi” and “te amo” and “mi corazoncito”. I loved Spanish and I loved who I thought Spanish (Latin American) men were.
This was a fantasy that was hard to give up for me. Writing about these scenarios helps me dispel these.. these stereotypes I have embedded in my brain. They help me realize that people are the same everywhere, even though lives aren’t.
To be honest, working at a bar has helped my communication and ease with people – and while sometimes I just don’t want to talk, which is an obligatory aspect of my personality, a lot of the time I just take people as they are without being upset one way or tugged into manipulations of them in my mind that simply aren’t true.
A guy from Venezuela came into the bar today and I simply loved his accent. My god. I will always have a soft spot in my heart (read: loins) for Spanish. I want to learn it and whisper it in my lover’s ear (are you listening, P? Russian isn’t that sexy, I know you know this to be true), I want to scribble notes to friends on pages and I want to know the short forms for “que” is just “q” or laugh with “j”s (jajaja)…. I want the sunshine to turn my skin to a soft leather and read Neruda as I feel the strings of a hammock press into my thighs and create notes on my muscle.
Finally, my “Obsession” is with the language and it is with my fantasy of the lifestyle – no longer with the men.